


Everyday We're Healing

by MidnightMoonraider



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gun Violence, Heavy Angst, School Shootings, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24251881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightMoonraider/pseuds/MidnightMoonraider
Summary: This is a continuation of the piece Everyday Superhero by stoneage_woman.Her piece is "A realistic field trip story that also explores the long-term consequences of trauma and responsibility, written by a real-life teacher."Mine is a very real and personal depiction of the aftermath of a school shooting.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 142





	Everyday We're Healing

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Everyday Superhero](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23638189) by [stoneage_woman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stoneage_woman/pseuds/stoneage_woman). 



> Please read Everyday Superhero by stoneage_woman. 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/23638189/chapters/56734294
> 
> In no way am I trying to say all survivors of gun violence or school shooting feel this way. This is only my reaction and feelings from my own school shooting. 
> 
> Please read the A/N at the bottom, and feel free to reach out to me if you want to talk about anything.

TW: This is about the very real and conflicted feelings I processed and am currently going through involving my school shooting in my freshman year of high school. It may be very distressing to some. 

Kids were resilient, or at least they were good at faking resilience. It had been almost two months since that Tuesday in February before Harrington truly and consciously recognized that. The Tuesday that had since created a game of memories that volleyed for favorites with the memory of Ashley as she died in his nightmares. Two months for the media storm to calm and for them, their fear, their experience, to be forgotten to the public. Sure, the shooting at Midtown came up every now and again, but only when it suited one side of a political argument or the other. One of his students asked him why nothing was changing. Lucas asked him if they didn't matter because there wasn't a dead kid. 

Harrington's heart broke when this bright and bubbly child tumbled over his guilt, confusion, fear, anger. Lucas tried to correct himself, to say he didn't mean it to sound like that. Of course he didn't want for someone to have died; and compared to that, he was grateful for the current situation. Harrington watched as this child warred with emotions too sharp and jaded for his age as he tried to convey what he had meant. He didn't let him sputter long. He rested his hand on Lucas’ shoulder and muttered a quiet, "I understand," and he did.

He understood the feelings of guilt at the, for lack of a better word, jealousy, that Parkland or Sandy received. Not because anyone could or would ever wish that to happen, but because over a decade later, people were still talking intimately about Sandy. Because there were still protests and rallies held for Parkland, but here it was, not two months after their own trauma, and they'd been forgotten, pushed aside, sent away like a child with a condescending pat to the head from their parents. He didn't want that terrible day to be continually shoved in his kids faces, but maybe it hurt just as much that they were deemed so unimportant in every way that mattered.

He understood the guilt that pierced through every member of this school, faculty or student alike. Matthew's friends blamed themselves the most. They went to after school activities together for years. They would sit around the lunch tables together and make silly faces with bananas as moustaches. They would try and fail spectacularly at swing dancing with each other when a class was held outside to enjoy the weather. They had dumb pet names for each other, and brought presents for every member of the group for every birthday so no one would be left out.

They all had stayed strong for so long in the face of the unintended scrutiny of their peers, but the feelings of responsibility that ran rampant through everyone were magnified in them. Matthew’s best friend broke down to Harrington one day after school, begging for forgiveness for not noticing. Pleading that he didn't know, that none of them knew. Harrington kept check on his outward emotions admirably for the raging turmoil he felt inside. He consoled him, reassuring that no one could have known. He stressed that there was not a single transgression to forgive, because there was no blame laid at anyone’s feet. All the while, he was battling with his own thoughts of the same nature, and he lost himself to thoughts of Matthew’s trial date slogging closer and closer. He knew how hard it was to forgive oneself, and only hoped his words were actually heard.

Harrington didn't know what he was supposed to feel about the trial. There hadn't been a date set yet, but he had already been asked to appear. He along with the rest of Matthew's teachers were asked to stand as 'character witnesses.' They were being asked to sit in the same room as the person who had full intentions of murdering dozens of other children. They were being asked to describe what type of kid he had been before that Tuesday, and Harrington knew what they would all say: that Matthew was a good, hard working, intelligent, kind young man. It sickened him, and he knew his coworkers shared his feelings, they were all floundering emotionally The worst part was that it wasn't untrue. Matthew was all of those things and more. He was, but now he wasn't. 

There was a different kind of guilt though that crept up on him unexpectedly. If he had reached out to Matthew like he did Peter, maybe he would have been able to see his descent, if only he had been as involved with Matthew. Maybe... maybe... He tried to not let these thoughts grab hold, and ensured he spoke to his therapist about everything. He knew it was dumb to feel responsible, that he could have done nothing to change the past. Really, Harrington tried to put a stop to those kinds of thoughts when he recognized them, but it was hard. 

He felt the same guilt when Hayley went into a full blown panic attack. She had been sitting two seats back and to the left of Matthew when he pulled out the gun. Hayley, who could give Peter a run for his money somedays in the department of kindness, went so rigid in her seat that Harrington's heart fluttered. His teeth tingled with adrenaline and his body flushed cold. He would never be able to tell how much time had passed between the flash of, "Oh god. Please not again," and, "She's having a flashback." Never could he have imagined that a minute could span the length of a millennia and a nano-second all in the same instance.

He started to try to pull her out gently, while instructing another student to call for the psychiatrists in the office. When she had finally come back to the present, her tears were deep and heaving. Apologies were flooding incoherently, only segments of phrases discernible through the gasping sobs and wet coughs. Ice flooded though his body for an entirely different reason when one sentence rang loud and clear for the whole class to hear.

"I'm so sorry Aiden! I saw you reaching into your bag, and I don't know what happened!" She was led from the room, leaving the class reeling in her wake. At the small admission of empathy from another student, the ice seemed to suck into rest in his heart. Of all the things a kid should be scared of in life, a backpack should never be one. He watched as it began with his senior physics class, the one that would never look at the world quite the same way again They stopped carrying backpacks. He hadn't really noticed it at first, until he picked up his foot to step over Toby's bag, which was always in the middle of the aisle; only for it to not be there. A quick glance let him see that there wasn't a bag in sight, even the kids who had abnormally large purses only had their books and laptops with them. Soon he recognized it in his other classes and in the halls, almost every child at Midtown had stopped carrying bags within a week.

Harrington understood the fear these children, his kids, felt. A coworker stepped around a corner with a disassembled travel mug proceeding towards them, and in that moment all he saw was a gun. All he saw was the distance between himself and that corner, the few lingering students in the way, the impossibility of this incident turning out with no casualties. Those times, when the fear grabbed hold of him, in the moment, there wasn't room for much panic. His brain went into overdrive trying to find the best way to save his kids, or if he was alone, to save himself. When the realization passed that it was just a coffee cup, or any other mundane object, his breath would catch. The fear would wash over him and he would be left surrounded by the encompassing, crushing weight, but he couldn't allow himself to break in front of the kids again. So, he would force a smile and still his hands long enough to retreat to seclusion. There he would spend a few precious moments gathering his wits to continue through his day.

The fear they felt of never being safe was one that crushed his heart, because he understood it. It wasn't a fear that could be coaxed away with logic or facts. One day, during the after school time where his room was a retreat for the kids that needed somewhere to be for a few hours, Kristy broke the silence with a strangled whisper.

"How... How do I stop being so afraid? How are we supposed to be safe out there where we don't have people like you or panic buttons? How can we live when I can't go to the mall without fear of a shooting like that one in Nebraska? Walmarts aren't safe. Movie theaters." She wasn't alone though, and the other kids staying after offered their own agreement in a way that made his heart writhe in a myriad of emotions.

"Hospitals."

"Concerts."

"Churches."

"Sports games."

"Parties"

"The beach."

"The library."

"Our neighborhoods and homes."

"Schools."

Harrington didn't know what he was supposed to say to assuage their fears, because he had all the same ones. For years, he had watched the news with heartbreak and dread every time the line crossed the bottom of the screen reading out a new place that had been devastated by this type of violence. Westroads Mall, Cascade Mall, the Walmart in El Paso, Texas, the movie theater in Colorado, the Orinda Halloween shooting, Gilroy Garlic Festival, Virginia Beach, Mercy Hospital, the 2018 Tallahassee Attack, the 2017 Congressional baseball shooting, Clovis Library, the Las Vegas shooting, and so many more. How could he tell these kids that they didn’t have to live their lives in fear when he himself did so every day? 

"I can't tell you that you shouldn't be afraid, because I am too," he admitted. "This is happening everywhere, but you can't let that fear stop you from living your lives. You can't stop going out to the stores, and you have to go to the doctors. You can't hide yourselves away, and stop going out and having fun. Go out, live your lives. Go to the festivals and concerts. Go to the beach and parties... responsibly! No drinking or drugs!" A few of the students chuckled at his panicked amendment. He had just told teenagers to go to parties, and be safe in a different expected way; and they all found that bit of normalcy refreshing. "Seriously though, it's okay to be scared, but use that fear to be smart. Have plans in place, take first aid classes, notice if people look suspicious, but don't let it smother you. You can't live if you're too busy hiding away in fear of dying." 

He took care to mention this to the psychiatrist still on staff. These kids, even though they did an admiral job of shouldering though, were on the verge of drowning. He spoke with Kristy and asked her to talk to her parents about getting more frequent and personal help. He watched her start to thrive again. He saw her blue eyes sparkling with happiness on graduation, free of the oppressive shackles of that terrible day. Even if it was only for a short while, and he was so relieved for her. So relieved that she was one less student to fall to their fear.

There had been a few that fell. The ones who used to be so dedicated to their schooling that he had no doubts that they would succeed at anything they set their minds to. He watched them dim, their passion and drive wilted to where they only put in the minimum effort to keep the status quo. He watched them get lost in their own heads rather than listen to the lectures, and read their papers with sadness to recognize the lost passion. He reached out, and tried all he could to recover the fire they once had. A few, he managed to pull back, but some of the others just couldn't recover that fast. It grated on every fiber of his being that he couldn't do more to help these kids out; that he couldn't just hit a reset button and stop everything that had happened. He could only hope that one day they would be a vision of their former selves.

Harrington could intimately understand the sadness these children felt as well. All of his coworkers could. They all understood they were lucky. They were lucky none of them had died, and they knew that their story wasn't the same for a lot. They thought of the hundreds of children killed at schools in just the past decade. They thought of the families and friends of those kids, the devastation they must have felt at losing their loved one at a place where they were supposed to be safe. The gaping, agonizing hole left in their lives by senseless violence. 

He watched his students break down in tears the day following the latest school shooting, just a few weeks after their own. The one that resulted in the lost lives of three eight year olds and their teacher. He cried with them when they asked what they could do to stop this. He cried when all he could say was, "I don't know," because he didn't. This type of mass violence had been happening for almost a century now, what more could they do? Why was nothing being done about their children being culled like cattle in the very buildings where they are supposed to be worry free and safe?

He also understood the anger. Rage reared up so suddenly and unexpectedly, for seemingly no reason at all, that it took him off guard sometimes. He was mad at the politicians, because they were only used as an arguing point for both sides. He was angry at the news stations, for not treating these actions with more care, for allowing them to become sensationalized. He was angry at the parents that weren't helping their children cope or getting them the resources they needed to work through the traumatic event. He was angry at the public for seeming to care more that Spider-man's identity had been revealed, than why it had been revealed. He was angry at himself, for not seeing Matthew's descent. 

The day after Kristy brought attention to the wound they were all ignoring, Harrington found himself in Morita's office. Voice trembling with rage and tears, his frustration pouring off of him so strong it was almost tangible. "All of these idiots in power are just screaming at each other! More gun control, infringement on rights, arm the teachers, arm the vets, gun buybacks, it's all bullshit! No one cares about these kids! Their parents and grandparents blame them, their generation for it, because, 'Back in my day we had shotguns hung up in the back windows of our trucks and this never happened.'" he mocked angrily. "That's great it didn't happen often in the 70's and 80's, but it's happening now! Why don't they care that their children are being murdered?! Why does it always have to be one extreme or the other? Why can't we have stricter gun controls and still have the right to bear arms? Why can't they just work together to find a solution to this problem?! Instead of bitching back and forth across the aisle like children fighting over a toy!" Harrington's arms dropped to his sides and his posture slumped in defeat.

"Why don't they care about the kids, more than their use in an argument that is going to go nowhere? They don't deserve this," he whispered. "They don't deserve to be scared to leave their homes. They shouldn't be terrified to come to school."

Morita looked at him, anguished.. “No, they don’t. None of us do.” he heaved with a sigh. They spent an hour together after that, taking comfort in the shared pain. 

So yes, Harrington fully understood the fear, sadness, guilt, and anger that the kids were feeling. However, he was also feeling a grim sort of pride in them all. He had never felt so proud to be a part of those children's lives than he was at the moment he recognized the lack of backpacks. Overlapping the sadness, there was happiness and relief when he understood that they weren't totally alone. The school was banding together to protect each other and heal from their scars. He was proud when kids started reaching out for help, not just for themselves but for their friends, acquaintances, and even other kids they had never spoken to.

He didn't think he could ever be prouder of a person than the time that Matthew's best friend walked up to him near the beginning of May with a terrified expression. The other of the group hung nervously in the background waiting for his return. He had asked if they would be allowed to invite Matthew's mother to the graduation ceremony. She had been a big part of their lives as well, from the many sleep-overs and outings they had done. They wanted her to know that they would love her, and continue to want her in their lives. Harrington knew he couldn't make that decision alone, nor could he possibly give the kids false hope. When Morita agreed to their request, Harrington's heart felt like a small piece of his burdens had lifted. Their smiles of relief, bitter though it might be, was more than he could have asked for.

He was proud of the students for asking to have a memorial before the graduation for all of the lives lost to school shootings. The Yearbook club worked tirelessly for weeks to make sure they got every single name of every child and teacher that had died in a school shooting in the United States, starting in 1840. The list was longer than anyone had thought it would be. 

He was proud that Peter never stopped speaking out about that day. He used his platform as Spider-Man to be a voice for them. Stark did too. They received so much backlash, but never wavered in the face of the vitriol spewed from the people in disagreement. They called for agreements. They publicly begged for the nation's lawmakers to actually come together and fix the problem. They demanded the people in charge stop their petty arguing and refusals, based solely on the color of their party, to lead a civil discussion and do what they had been chosen to do.

He was proud of the solidarity that had been shown the weeks and months following that day in February. He would never forget Ashley, and he would never forget Matthew. He never wanted either of those days to be forgotten, but maybe he could be just as resilient as the kids were. Maybe one day he wouldn't have to fear so much. Maybe one day, he would heal.

\--

A/N

I just want to say to anyone who has gone through a traumatic event, that whatever you're feeling, it's valid. It's been ten years since my school shooting, no one died except the shooter. I never spoke about it. I pushed it away or made silly little jokes about it. I cried for 6 hours at work because at 24 years old, I finally admitted that I was absolutely terrified. I finally admitted that I was/am angry. I had always felt sorrow every time there was a new school shooting, but I had detached myself from it so much, that I only felt the sadness like one does for a dead squirrel on the side of the road. 

You are allowed to feel whatever you feel, for as long as you need. There is no time limit on your recovery. There is no universal answer on how you are supposed to deal with your traumas. Just know that one day, it will pass. You won't forget it, but eventually, you'll stop thinking about it every single day. Eventually, you'll be able to breathe without the shadows trying to grab you at every turn.

Speak to your friends, your family, a professional, a stranger on the internet, your boss or coworkers. Talk to someone when you feel ready to.I did not write this to be on one side of the political debate or the other, and I tried to keep it as neutral as possible by bashing both sides equally. Whatever the answer is to ending the killing of our children, it needs to be found. It needs to be found yesterday. It needed to be found before VT Tech, before Columbine, before Sandy Hook, before Parkland, but it won't be unless we start listening. 

If you wish to know where my views of this piece comes from, you can see my comments of my accounts on Chapter 8 and Chapter 13 of Everyday Superhero by stoneage_woman. Both were wrote on Fri 15 May 2020. They are very graphic and possibly triggering, but they are the reliving of my first Friday of High School. I never would have imagined that in my tiny little town, I would hear the words "Code red. Code red. This is not a drill. Oh shit" over the PA system. It is happening in small towns and big cities, from elementary schools to colleges.


End file.
